


Aftermath

by eutuxia



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Bedwetting, ColdFlash Big Bang 2020, Fluff, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Rape Aftermath, Recovery, Vomiting, Wordcount: 15.000-25.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eutuxia/pseuds/eutuxia
Summary: After being assaulted, Leonard knows he needs medical care, but he's afraid to go to a clinic for fear of being arrested. Instead, he does the unthinkable: he goes to his enemy for help. Getting treated for his physical injuries isn't the end, though. Although Len would very much like to just move on from what happened, his nightmares keep him awake at night. Barry isn't sure how to help him through this, but he tries his best.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 9
Kudos: 95
Collections: Coldflash Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my partner, Purpleyin, for making lovely moodboards for this story! 
> 
> You can view the moodboard for chapter one [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604/chapters/68063086).
> 
>  **Warnings:** As the summary states, this is a rape recovery fic. The assault happens "off-screen," but this fic does explore some of the physical and emotional trauma that comes with that. Len does blame himself somewhat for what happened, but it was _not_ his fault. If this content may be triggering for you, please do not read it.
> 
> The ways people experience the trauma of an assault vary widely. There is no one reaction to this kind of trauma, so please try to keep that in mind. 
> 
> I tried to write this so that Barry and Len did not get together immediately following the assault (as that would be unhealthy), but I'm not accustomed to writing multi-chapter fics so the pacing may make it seem like it happened faster than the several months I intended.

A light rap at the door drew Barry's attention away from the television program. It was well into the evening, and he wasn't expecting anyone. At a normal speed, he got up from the couch and crossed to the doorway. When he peered through the peephole, he reeled back in surprise. 

Leonard Snart was on the other side of the door.  
Although it wasn't the first time Snart had stopped by the house, he definitely hadn't bothered to knock the first time.

Barry cracked the door open cautiously, preparing to slip into super speed at a moment's notice.

"Snart. What the hell are you doing here?" Barry bit out.

Snart opened his mouth to make a snarky remark, but the hand he had held against the doorframe to keep himself upright belied the bravado in his face. Even through the half-light and the many layers Snart was wearing, Barry could see Snart had taken a beating.

Shocked, Barry let the door swing further open.

"What happened to your face?"

The bravado drained from Snart's face, leaving him pale and wan. "Not just my face, kid," he said.

Snart's demeanor floored Barry. This man was his enemy, and he always seemed so much larger than life and ready to fuck things up. Right now, though, Snart looked like he might be sick all over Barry's hardwood floors, and he radiated an aura of defeat.

"Are you okay?" Barry asked. He felt so caught off-guard by Snart showing up at his house looking and acting like this. When Snart made no attempt to answer, Barry sighed and pulled the door all the way open. "Do you want to come in?"

He might regret this, but he couldn't just let Snart languish on his doorstep if he might be injured. When Barry offered to let him come inside, the relief on Snart's face was palpable. The man made to walk inside only for his boot to catch against the threshold and send him careening to the ground. For a moment, Barry's surprise was incapacitating, and he watched dumbly as Snart started to fall, but then he snapped back to himself and grabbed Snart at superspeed just before he hit the ground.

Snart gasped, "let go of me," and lashed out hard, fighting dirty and elbowing Barry in the face like he had done something much worse than keep him from falling and worsening rhe severity of his injuries.

"What the hell, Snart?" Barry was apoplectic; he had invited Snart into his home against his better judgment, and even in his injured state, the man had still behaved aggressively towards him.

But once Barry had tamped down on his anger long enough to refocus his eyes on Snart, he discovered the man was breathing heavily and had crowded himself up against the wall. He moved closer, reaching his hand out to Snart in concern, only to jerk it back when Snart jumped further away from him and began to slide down the wall.

Snart descended to the floor, burying his face in his hands, and Barry could see him shuddering and gasping rapidly. He recognized that Snart was beginning to hyperventilate, but he didn't know how to respond.

This was his enemy. What the hell were you supposed to do when your enemy showed up at your house beaten bloody and started hyperventilating?

Taking care not to touch him suddenly this time because doing so before had set Snart off so severely, Barry crouched next to him. "What's wrong? Come on, Snart, talk to me."

Snart seemed lost in his own head, so Barry waved a hand in front of his face fruitlessly before finally tapping him gently on the shoulder. The action finally got Snart's attention, but he reacted skittishly. "S-stop," he choked out, twisting away and avoiding Barry's eyes.

Barry pulled his hand away, unsure of what he should do. Snart was clearly frightened, and Barry's proximity only seemed to ratchet up his alarm, but his face was battered, and Barry worried he might have more severe injuries hidden under his clothing. He needed to assess Snart's injuries so he could help him.

"Tell me what's wrong," Barry urged, but Snart just listed to the side, gasping harshly and shaking his head.

"'M fine."

"If you were fine, you wouldn't have come here," Barry said. "Tell me what's wrong so I can help you."

"Nothing is wrong," Snart croaked, but the way he leaned heavily against the wall and couldn't catch his breath made it easy to tell he was lying. "I'll be fine."

Snart was a good actor, but it was impossible not to see that something had happened to him. Although his expression didn't slip much, the way he was holding himself was too rigid and off for Barry not to notice that something more was amiss than just the dark bruises in bloom across his face. He scanned Snart over quickly, checking for signs of injuries that might be discernible even through all the layers Snart was wearing, and then stilled.

"Is that _blood_?" Barry asked, aghast. Despite Snart's fondness for all things black, Barry could make out a dark stain against Snart's inner thighs—one that looked suspiciously like blood, except with the placement, that would mean—

Oh. _Fuck_.

"Leonard," Barry began cautiously. He felt strange addressing his enemy by his first name, but he needed to get through to him, and the situation seemed to call for it. "Can I take you to STAR Labs? Caitlin could help you—"

Snart nodded his head so minutely, Barry almost second-guessed whether he had seen it at all. "You'll be okay," Barry said softly. "I'm going to speed you to STAR Labs, so hold on tight, okay?"

Snart looked apprehensive, but he didn't argue when Barry latched onto him. He held tight to Barry's body, and all Barry could hear as he sprinted him away was the single shocked breath Leonard made in the brief seconds that elapsed during the short run.

When Barry stilled and released him, Snart looked away, shaking violently and looking like he might fall over. "You're okay," Barry said placatingly.

Snart shook his head, looking like he might get sick at any moment.

"I'm going to get Caitlin, okay?" Barry said, inching his way to the door even as he kept his eyes on Snart, knowing full well that Snart realistically didn't have the ability to trail him but also knowing that under normal conditions, Snart would be unlikely to stick around.

Snart nodded, letting himself sink down onto the makeshift hospital bed set up in a little room off to the side of the main cortex. His face was pale and pinched, but he offered no argument as Barry went off in search of assistance.

Less than a minute later, Barry reappeared with a still-reeling Doctor Snow. Still dressed in her pajamas, she looked like she might kill him for stealing her away from an evening of relaxation. Snow looked around the cortex in consternation for a moment before her eyes finally landed on Snart and widened.

"He's injured," Barry said shortly, motioning at Snart.

At Barry's words, Caitlin quickly schooled her face into a professional facade, hiding away her surprise and confusion in favor of marching forward to get a good look at what injuries Snart might be hiding.

She was a picture of professionalism as she examined Leonard, and Barry felt relieved. He had worried that Caitlin might be unable to overcome her feelings about Leonard to provide him medical care, and he wouldn't have blamed her, considering the man had literally kidnapped her. But luckily, Caitlin was of the same mind as Barry when it came to things like this and believed that people deserved care regardless of who they were or what they had done. Denying someone medical care could not be a punishment for wrongdoing; it went against everything they stood for.

Leonard's bruised and bloody face helped her disassociate the man who had terrorized her team from the man before her who was in need of medical care.

The way he was holding himself made it very clear that he had additional injuries hidden underneath his clothes, and the expression on his face was more open and pained than his usual closed off or mutinous expression. And Barry's own level of urgency told her she needed to take this seriously, so she pushed down her feelings for the moment so she could focus on caring for her patient.

Snart was clearly nervous and tense as Caitlin approached him, but when she told him to get on the exam table, he did so without arguing. It was strange, seeing Snart look so docile and unassuming and Caitlin examining him so calmly.

Barry felt like he should stay just to make sure Snart didn't try anything, but he honestly wasn't very concerned he would. And if Snart stole Caitlin's wallet or something, there were far worse things that the criminal could do (and had done).

Snart balked when Caitlin told him to take his clothes off so she could examine him better, but she gently reminded him it was just so she could see his injuries better to assess their severity and treat them. After a moment of staring off into space, face carefully blank, Snart grasped the hem of his shirt with shaking fingers and pulled it over his head. Caitlin sucked in a surprised breath when she saw the level of bruising along his ribs, but quickly schooled her face into a neutral expression.

He breathed heavily for a moment, closing his eyes for just a second before turning his focus to his jeans, pulling them down with faltering hands while avoiding eye contact with either Caitlin or Barry. When he pulled his jeans down, the action exposed a swathe of drying blood coating the pale skin of his inner thighs, and Caitlin sucked in another breath of shock and horror. Snart was trembling with fear and anxiety, and Caitlin shooed Barry out of the room, putting up a privacy screen while she coaxed Snart to lay back on the bed.

"Okay, Leonard," she soothed. "I'm going to need you to take your underwear off now so I can see what kind of damage we're dealing with. We can put a sheet over your legs, so you have as much privacy as possible while I do it, okay?"

Caitlin felt shaken to the core. She had already been in her nightgown, ready to relax with a book and some wine, when Barry had turned up in her apartment and unceremoniously spirited her away without more than a, "Caitlin, I need you."

She'd had little choice but to agree, knowing that Barry wouldn't interrupt her night in unless it was necessary, but she hadn't expected what had greeted her.

Arriving at STAR Labs to discover the man who had kidnapped her and strapped her to a bomb was in need of her assistance had required that she muster all her strength just to refrain from walking out of the cortex and leaving.

And then that same man had undressed per her bidding, hadn't even rebuked her for asking him to, and, well.

She didn't want to think about what could cause the kinds of injuries that her cursory examination had revealed when he did. She kept her face as neutral as possible as she began to examine Snart more thoroughly, slipping into "doctor talk" to keep her mind off of darker things.

“I’m going to prescribe antibiotics to prevent infection, and a prophylactic to reduce your chances of contracting—”

Caitlin’s words washed over Leonard like an unwelcome tidal wave, but he just sighed, telling her, “Just tell me what I need to take, and I’ll do it.” 

Witnessing Snart's fear as she performed the exam made Caitlin feel uneasy. She told him everything she needed to do before she did it, checked in with him regularly, but the look on his face as she poked and prodded was one of pure terror.

She supposed she wouldn’t feel very comfortable herself if she were on the other side of this exam, but it was still hard to reconcile her mental image of what Captain Cold should be like with the man who hesitated when she examined him and hissed at many of her touches.

Although she tried her best to reassure him as the examination progressed, it was difficult to radiate kindness considering the history between them. She did check in with him frequently, telling him what she was doing and asking if things hurt, but Leonard mostly stayed quiet, moving only as she directed and speaking only when she addressed him.

She could tell he was shaking under the thin sheet she had covered him with, was fairly certain he was in tears or close to it, but she declined to comment on it. There wasn't much she could do for him besides be as direct as possible while examining him, and she knew that commenting on his emotional state was likely to humiliate rather than soothe him. He seemed like a man who valued his dignity greatly.

There was tearing, there was blood, and there was a mess of other evidence that she didn’t want to think about but took samples of just in case Leonard wanted to report this to the police. She doubted it, but it would be remiss of her not to do it.

Leonard would need some stitches to repair the tearing, and although she tried to find the tenuous balance between gentle and efficient, she wasn't sure she actually managed. She could hear Snart’s little bitten-off gasps as she worked, and knew it probably wasn’t just from the actual physical pain he was experiencing.

Still, she wished they had stronger painkillers on hand than the ibuprofen she kept in her desk. With the speed that Barry burned through and rendered anesthesia useless, the supplies they had on hand for medical emergencies had become horribly depleted of simple things like anesthetics.

Despite all the pain that Snart himself had caused her all those months ago, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him as she examined his body and attended to the damage she saw laid out across his skin. No one deserved to go through what Snart had clearly gone through, and she wasn’t going to stand there and use this as an opportunity to denigrate him when he was so obviously suffering, and so severely. 

She wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even Snart or Rory. 

When she finished tending to his wounds and told him she was finished, he didn’t immediately sit up, but rather, just laid on the little hospital bed gasping shakily and trying to pretend he wasn’t falling apart. She left the room briefly after giving him aftercare instructions and telling him she would be back with painkillers for him, regretting that she couldn’t do more.

She could repair tears, mend broken ribs, prescribe prophylactics and antibiotics, and tell him that his body would be okay.

But she wasn’t a psychologist, and she didn’t know how to fix the wounds that she knew must be festering deep within his mind.

She didn’t know how to do much of anything beyond the physical, had never been blessed with deep understandings of people or emotion, and she just hoped someone else would be able to pick up the pieces in the ways that she couldn’t.

She could pretend Snart wasn’t falling apart and try to ignore it for both his peace of mind and her own, but there wasn’t much that she was qualified to do beyond that.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger," Caitlin said as she handed Leonard a little paper cup with three ibuprofen capsules inside. "Barry burns through pain medication too fast for it to be useful so we don't keep it on hand." For a moment, she stood there awkwardly, watching as he took the proffered medication, unsure of what more could be said but feeling like what she had was woefully inadequate. After a moment's deliberation, she left Snart alone in the room.

Finally alone, he sagged forward, burying his face in his hands. He had his arms propped up on his thighs, and he let out a small sob into his hands.

 _I’m okay. I’m okay. I’ve had worse_.

And the real kicker was that he had.

But his body ached, everything ached, from his face to his abdomen to . . . things that Leonard didn’t particularly want to think about. And he could still see the face of that man above him, grunting and groaning, could still feel him pressing him down and hurting him and making him beg for him to please let him go.

Everything would be okay. It had to be okay.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but hopefully, it would be the last. Hopefully, it would be the last time that anyone ever had him so vulnerable and carved open, that anyone managed to make him feel so small and terrified and less-than.

He felt grateful that the Flash had taken him in and given him medical care, and he felt angry at the Flash for making him feel beholden to him, at his attacker for making him need the medical care in the first place, and for himself for allowing himself to be hurt like this. 

Sure, don’t blame the victim and all that.

But Leonard wasn’t supposed to be the victim anymore. He was supposed to be able to stick it to other people, to ice them before they ever even had the chance to hurt him. (Or Mick, or Lisa.)

He was supposed to have moved past this. He was supposed to be able to be more now, to not let himself be victimized like this.

For all that he was able to escape dangerous situations, to escape prison and the Santinis and even the Flash, he still couldn’t escape a common rapist.

He should be better than this. He should be so much more than this.

But apparently, he wasn’t.

And he had had to come crying to his enemy, had had to beg him to take him in, and wasn’t that the real kicker?

And Flash had done it for him, had taken him to his “top secret” (not so secret) labs and gotten him medical care and not even mentioned what had clearly happened to him.

He felt sick with it, with the knowledge of how severely he had let his guard down in so many respects. He was supposed to be the one who had things over the Flash, who was able to turn his plans upside down.

But apparently, Fate had other plans, and Leonard was the one who had to pay the price.

He shook on the little hospital bed, sitting there on the thin and terrible mattress with his face buried in his calloused hands, trying to hold himself together like nothing was wrong.

He felt like he was trying to keep his insides from spilling out all over the bed, and he hoped that Flash and his merry bunch of friends couldn’t see him like this, because there was no stopping the waterworks that were to come.

He felt sick with it, with the pain of what had happened, could feel himself reliving all the moments of pain and shame that had happened mere hours earlier on repeat. He felt shattered, like each little shard of himself was trying to piece itself back together, and he wished desperately that he could turn back time to only a few hours previously and make it so that this had never happened.

So that he had never let that man get the drop on him. So that he had never been hurt like this. So that the Flash had never seen him like this. 

He ached terribly and tried not to think about what had caused those injuries, but it was hard not to. He could still feel that man’s hands on him, bruising him in places that weren’t meant to be bruised, could still feel the way his mouth tasted like acid and his touches felt like agony, and he regretted ever leaving the house that day.

He hadn’t even been doing anything wrong. He had done so many things wrong in his life, he knew his career opened him up to all sorts of mortal risk, but he hadn’t even been doing anything wrong this time.

He just wanted to go to the store, gather up some food for the week.

And instead, he had received enough nightmare fodder for a lifetime, had learned what it meant to ache from the inside out. And he didn't even know the identity of his attacker, which really put a knife in his “showing this man justice” plan. 

Leonard ached, inside and out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my partner, Purpleyin, for making the amazing moodboards for this fic!
> 
> You can find the moodboard for chapter two [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604/chapters/68063140).
> 
> Additional chapter warnings for vomiting and self-blame.

Some time later—and to Leonard, it could have been hours, minutes, or days, there was a rap on the door, and Leonard gathered himself enough to rasp out a shaky, “come in,” hating how his voice wavered and sounded so weak. He cleared his throat afterward, trying to pretend for his own sake that the reason for his shaky voice was simply that his throat was clogged, torn between looking at the door to see who was coming in and looking at his hands so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with whoever it was.

Unsurprisingly, when the door cracked open, it revealed the face of Barry Allen, looking unsure and almost timid.

 _Welcome to the club, kid._ There wasn’t anything normal about this situation, about the interaction that was taking place between them. 

The last time Leonard had shown up at Barry’s house, the man had shoved him against a mantelpiece and threatened to arrest him. 

This time, Leonard had come to him injured and expecting, hoping desperately that Barry would let him in and lend him a helping hand.

Because people like him didn’t have the luxury of seeking medical care whenever and wherever it was necessary. People like him patched themselves up with whiskey and needle floss whenever they could and had their little sisters help whenever they couldn’t.

People like him went to the doctor only rarely and even then only under false names, knowing that if someone turned them in or a police officer was in the waiting room, a doctor's visit could quickly turn into a stint in jail or prison tims.

And prison time meant being caged, meant abuses, meant risking getting shivved or turned out or otherwise degraded and treated as less than human.

Leonard knew how to run the inside of a prison. He knew how to break out of one. He knew how to live through one.

But not without pain and suffering. His first introduction to the prison system at the tender age of fourteen had been bloody and had taught him not to expect intervention by the guards or anyone else. So often, prison meant relying on yourself and on the kindness of other prisoners, which the harsh conditions and culture of desperation made lacking.

“Hey,” Barry said, and Leonard wondered if he was just imagining it or if Barry was a little hoarse too.

“How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Leonard said, snorting and looking back down at his hands like they held the answers to this fucked up situation. “Ain’t the first time, kid, but hopefully it’ll be the last.”

Leonard didn’t have to look up to know that Barry’s eyes were widening in surprise at the implications of what Leonard had just said. “Not the first time?” Barry asked, horrified, incredulous.

Leonard looked up again. “What can I say, kid? I’ve lived a rough life.”

The squeamish expression on Barry's face at this revelation turned Leonard's stomach. He hated wondering how much of that revulsion was directed at him or the result of pity, and so he was grateful when he moved past it onto other subjects instead of dwelling on things that couldn't be helped.

“Was Caitlin able to help you?” Barry asked tentatively. “I know you guys didn’t have . . . the best start, but I—”

“She did everything she could. She didn’t tell you anything?” Leonard’s forehead creased in confusion. Surely Snow had told him every gory detail of what she had found on and beneath his skin, of the damage that blossomed across his ribs and between his legs and the scrapes that covered his knees and palms.

Considering the history between them, Leonard couldn't even blame her if she had divulged those things to Barry or if she had taken a sordid pleasure in seeing him in this kind of pain. In a sick way, he thought he might actually deserve that.

“Of course not!” Barry sounded horrified, and Leonard could hear ringing in his ears as he tried to parse out what he meant. “Caitlin wouldn’t betray your confidence like that, Leonard, and even if she would, I wouldn’t let her.”

“I—have not been kind to you. Either of you and especially not her.”

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t like to hurt other people, Leonard,” Barry said, glaring at him with an almost-comical intensity.

Leonard flinched.

“Shit, Leonard, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be speaking to you like that right now. You’re hurt, and it’s inappropriate and—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Leonard ground out, massaging his forehead against his tender palms, feeling a headache coming on. “I’m still the same thorn in your side I was yesterday, _Barry_. Thanks for the medical care, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass. I’m not gonna break because you weren’t ‘nice’ to me.”

Barry’s eyes were wide and wounded. “That’s not it at all, Leonard. I know you’re not made of glass, but I also know you’re more than that, and it’s not right of me to pick at you when you’re down.”

Leonard had half a mind to ask Barry to leave the room. He still felt jittery and like he might vibrate out of his skin at any moment (which would be a very strange role reversal indeed), and Barry’s doleful eyes were making something deep in his gut clench. 

But oddly, he felt like he shouldn’t be alone right now, like if he were, he might actually shake so fast every atom in his body diffused into the ether. He was close to falling apart now, and he didn’t want anyone to see it happen, least of all the man he had chosen as his nemesis, but the alternative was a dark room with too much space for his thoughts to echo around in until the walls began to close in around him, suffocating him and making his breaths come too fast, too harsh, too unhealing.

“But . . .” Barry sighed, stopping his sentence in place before it even began. “I just came in here to see if you needed anything.”

Leonard shook his head, unable to look at Barry and see those wide and sympathetic eyes directed at him. The mixture of sympathy and understanding curdled in his stomach and made bile rise in his throat. He didn’t know how to stop feeling like the walls were closing in on him, like the world was spinning off its axis and careening into some new reality where his skin didn’t fit and enemies were kind.

Abruptly, Leonard jumped off of the hospital bed, rising to his feet and letting them carry him to the nearest wastebasket so he could gag and retch. The motion renewed the searing pain in his side and ratcheted up the intensity of his fear. He could feel the air move around him, and then Barry was only a foot away from, asking gently, “Leonard? Are you okay?”

Leonard held onto the railing of the bed next to him as he gagged, disgusted by the revolting and oppressive taste that filled his mouth and took up space in his nostrils. He felt so sick, consumed by the terror that was pumping through his chest in an off-beat rhythm.

He was so out of control, and he had had to lose control in front of the man he had once sought to destroy.

“I’m fine,” Leonard gasped once he was done retching violently into the wastebasket, and he could practically _hear_ the expression of disagreement that must be on Barry Allen’s face.

“Leonard,” he said softly. “It’s obvious that you’re not fine, and you don’t have to be.”

Leonard shook his head and felt himself slipping to the floor again, just like he had back in the West house only an hour before. He sat down on the cold tile floor and buried his face in his hands, able to feel the pounding rush of blood pumping under his skin, and moaned.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, _I’m fine_ ,” he chanted under his breath, knowing distantly that he was having a panic attack and that this wasn’t the place (or person) to fall apart so completely. 

He didn’t want this. He hadn't wanted it.

He cried.

He finally gave himself over to the tears that had threatened to swallow him whole since this had all began, but it wasn’t really a matter of allowing himself to cry. It felt more like embracing the inevitable, like losing the control he had over his body so totally that he couldn’t help but dissolve completely and shatter out of his body.

He could hear Barry suck in a sharp breath of surprise from a few feet away as the first tears began to roll down his face.

Leonard tried to hide his face in his hands, but he knew that Barry could see plain as day that he had lost his cool so totally. 

“Leonard—” Barry whispered softly, so close to inaudible that Leonard could almost pretend he hadn’t heard it at all, but Leonard just shattered, falling apart into his own hands so completely.

Crying, he jerked away from Barry’s voice, choking out another, “I’m okay,” but he knew the person he was trying to convince was himself.

He was distantly aware of Barry crouching on the floor next to him and sitting nearby, could hear the sound of his breathing just a short distance away. The smoothness of his breathing was in sharp contrast with Leonard’s own shuddering gasps and tortured breaths. “You’re not okay,” Barry whispered. “But you will be, Leonard. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

It took a painfully long amount of time for Leonard’s sobbing to finally begin to slow, but Barry Allen exhibited a level of patience at odds with his status as a speedster and stayed by his side the entire time. Leonard was grateful that he didn’t try to touch him; he wasn’t sure how he might react if even Barry’s gentle fingers came into contact with his body. He had panicked when Barry had touched him earlier, and it seemed the other man had learned a lesson from the experience.

Over the pounding in his ears, Leonard could occasionally hear the soft, grounded words of reassurance that Barry was trying to give him, and as loathe as he was to admit it, it gave him a strange sense of comfort to know that Barry was there beside him while Leonard lost his head so completely.

He felt safe, having him watch over him, knowing that few people could face off against the Flash and win, least of all the ordinary human man that had overpowered Leonard and hurt him so severely. It should have made Leonard feel weak to know Barry could win against the man Leonard had lost against, but he tried not to focus on the clenching feelings swirling low in his belly and tried to focus instead on the comfort that Barry’s unimposing presence granted him.

He wasn’t okay. But Barry could almost make him believe he would be.

Finally, Leonard was able to lift his head from where he had buried it in his hands and knees and met Barry’s clear green eyes with his own watery and puffy blue ones. Barry gave him a sad smile, and Leonard had to swallow back a fresh wave of tears to keep from sobbing again.

“I’m not okay,” Leonard rasped, clearing his throat afterward when he found his throat had clenched with the force and longevity of his crying.

Barry shook his head. “But you will be,” he promised.

After a few minutes sitting in silence on the floor, Barry began to stand, rising to his feet and offering Leonard a hand up. He looked at it uncertainly for a long moment before reaching out to grab it, allowing the other man to lift him to his feet, feeling his soft hand in his. He didn’t think the kid had a single callous on his hand, and he felt a touch hysterical for noticing that in a time like this.

“Leonard—” Barry started, and then broke off, looking conflicted about something. “Can I touch you?” He looked like he regretted the question as soon as it exited his mouth.

But Leonard just nodded shakily after a too-long beat and let Barry reach out a hand to touch his arm gently, testing out Leonard’s comfort level before folding him into his arms. Leonard let out a shuddering breath and then relaxed into Barry’s hold.

“Thank you,” he gasped into Barry’s shirt. 

If fresh tears soaked through the thin fabric of Barry’s t-shirt, neither of them mentioned it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Purpleyin for creating the moodboard for this chapter! You can see the moodboard [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604/chapters/68063185).

"Robbery on Jackson and 3rd," Cisco's voice came over the comms. "Jewelry store. Police chatter suggests Captain Cold and his Rogues."

Barry sighed, turning in mid-stride and taking off toward Jackson Avenue. It had been less than a week since Snart had shown up on his doorstep, battered and bruised and all but begging for his help, but it looked like Leonard's criminal bent hadn't mellowed in the slightest. His persistence in being a pain in Barry's side was almost impressive; not many people could commit acts of supervillainy with broken ribs. 

Sometimes he wondered why Leonard bothered to stay in Central City at all. As an intelligent man, he had to know Barry would almost always be able to stop him from completing his heists. He could take his criminal enterprise almost anywhere else in the world and be unstoppable. But then again, maybe that was the point. Leonard seemed to live for the challenge.

It took Barry all of three seconds to pull to a stop in front of Barrett & Sons Fine Jewelry on Jackson and 3rd.

The door to the jewelry store was iced over and smashed in when he got there, and Barry rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Snart very easily could have just walked through the front door like any respectable, paying customer, but he had wanted to leave his calling card.

It looked like Heatwave and Glider had already gotten away with most of the loot, but Snart was standing over a smashed-in jewelry case, examining a necklace that glittered under the fluorescent lighting with a theatrical display of slowness. Seeming to register Barry's arrival, Snart slowly looked up from the necklace draped over his hand and locked eyes with Barry, his signature smirk back on his face, a far cry from his expressions from only a few days before. The still-fading bruises on his face did little to diminish his smirk.

"Barry!" He crowed. "Nice of you to finally make an appearance."

Barry couldn't stop the slight smile that came over his face. He would never admit it to any of his teammates, but the drama Snart brought to the table was sometimes a very refreshing break from the monotony of stopping the same kinds of ordinary crimes day in and day out. At least when it wasn't endangering other people's lives, that is. "Oh come on, Snart. We both know you waited until Rory and Lisa got away with the loot to set off the alarm yourself." 

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for men in uniforms." 

Despite the familiarity of the banter between them, Barry could sense that there was something off about Snart. A vulnerability around his eyes that would be totally foreign and possibly escape his notice if not for the fact that he had seen it only a few days prior under completely different circumstances. Once he realized what he was seeing, it occurred to Barry that the robbery, done with all of Len's flair for the dramatics but very little of his penchant for subterfuge and stealth, wasn't done out of a desire for wealth or in search of adrenaline, but rather, to prove that he was still the badass who ruled Central City.

But was it his unnamed attacker he was trying to prove that to, or Barry? Barry sure as hell didn't need the reminder; Snart had been a major pain in his ass for years now.

Barry locked eyes with Snart. "You don't have to prove anything to me or anyone else, Leonard. I know what happened doesn't make you any less of the pain in my ass you were before."

Len tried to play it off with a smirk, but to Barry, it looked hollow. "I'm not trying to prove anything, Scarlet," he said. "Everyone knows what kind of villain I am; why would I need to prove it?" 

Despite Len's words, Barry could tell that he was shaken. Seeing that expression on his usually-unflappable villain was a little like seeing the world upside down, and he found that he didn't much like it. "It's okay to not be okay," Barry said. "I know it probably doesn't feel that way, God knows I don't half the time, but between Cisco and Caitlin and everyone else telling me it all the time, I'm starting to actually believe it."

Len tilted his head and snorted. "'You give that speech to all your villains?"

Barry sighed. "It's not a speech, Snart. It's the truth."

"Well, you can save it for someone who wants to listen. I know who I am. I don't need you to tell me it's okay to be me." 

But watching Snart go through the motions of supervillainy, it occurred to him that the person Leonard was trying to prove himself to wasn't Barry or his attacker or even the rest of the world. Or . . . at least, not _just_ Barry and the rest of the world. The person Snart was trying to prove himself to the most was himself.

Which was way harder for Barry to address. He mulled over his words for a moment, unsure of what to say. He felt as woefully unprepared for this as he had a week ago. Snart had a way of leaving Barry speechless and bereft, but this was nothing like the kind of tongue-tied he had felt while facing off with Snart in the past.

Oh, he didn't miss the way Snart had left him speechless in the past, the way he had left him standing open-mouthed in front of the iced-over body of a man he hadn't been able to save. That was something Barry could never miss.

But facing off against Snart had been simpler then, when all Snart had on the line was adrenaline and the thrill of the chase, and all Barry had to do was try to stop him. Their agendas had stopped at the dance of hero and villain. It had been a dangerous dance of ice and lightning, that much was true, but at least the dance had had rules and they had both known which role they were supposed to play.

Now, though, Barry's agenda had expanded to include helping Snart, though he would certainly deny it to anyone who asked. Especially Joe. He felt off-kilter, seeing Snart off his game, seeing Snart trying to convince himself that he was still a badass, still capable of getting one over the mighty Flash. 

It should make him feel happy to see Snart so unsure of himself. It should make him feel happy to know that if he took advantage of this unusual display of vulnerability and pushed just right, he might be able to make Snart crumble and finally end the strange war between them.

He should be taking advantage of this.

But he found he didn't want to.

There was no satisfaction in seeing Snart hurting. He hadn't had that satisfaction one week previously, and he didn't have it now.

It wasn't his place to put Snart back together, but suddenly, it didn't feel like it was his place to bring him down either. 

"You're right," Barry interrupted the tense silence that was building between them. "I can't tell you who you are, but I can still tell when someone has something to prove. And I know you, Leonard."

Leonard stuffed the overpriced necklace he'd been holding into one of the many pockets of his parka without breaking eye contact with Barry. In the fluorescent lighting of the jewelry store, the fading purple and yellow bruises on his skin looked garish and sickly. "And I know you, Barry. Which is why I know you aren't going to stop me when I walk out that door."

Barry stepped out of the doorway, silently ceding the space to Snart. After so much time spent facing off against him, the words no longer carried the weight of the threat Snart had first made him two years ago. They were a mere statement of fact. "You're right," he said simply. "But I know you well enough now to know you won't go running to the press with my name if you don't. Not now."

"I have half a mind to prove you wrong."

Barry tilted his head in acknowledgment of the threat. "You won't."

A year ago, the thought of letting Snart get away with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of fine jewelry would have stopped Barry in his tracks, but today, he hardly winced as Snart made his getaway. Realistically, he knew that Rory and Lisa had made off with the bulk of the loot and that the few pieces Snart had hidden on his person were likely a paltry sum in comparison. Even if he were to arrest Snart now, the damage was already done. 

And the truth was that he couldn't risk Snart revealing his identity to the entire world. While he didn't think it was likely that he would go running to the press with the information of Barry's identity after everything that had happened and the amount of time they had spent playing this game that they had both grown attached to, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. He valued his own privacy and the safety of his loved ones too much to risk them over a few gaudy necklaces and bracelets. 

If his teammates asked him why he let Snart get away, he would claim he had gotten the best of him again, that Snart had done something predictably wicked and villainous like freeze his legs in a block of ice while taunting him with increasingly egregious cold-themed puns. But the truth was that he didn't much care for the idea of throwing Snart into Iron Heights anymore. While he also didn't care for the idea of Snart out on the streets committing crimes, he knew that the prison was a terrible place. His father had glossed over the horrors of Iron Heights quite a bit whenever Barry would visit him, but as an adult, he had become more aware of the abuses that went on inside those walls, and it seemed deeply wrong to subject Snart to that while he was still healing.

The next time Snart saw it fit to commit a crime or terrorize the people of Central City, Barry would be there to stop him. And with Snart's track record, it probably wouldn't be long, but maybe, just maybe, the time in between would be long enough to erase the images of Snart's bruised and battered face from his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moodboard for this chapter is brought to you by Purpleyin! You can check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604/chapters/68063221).

In a strange role reversal, it was Snart’s turn to unexpectedly slide into Barry’s booth while he was having dinner. Barry wasn’t usually one for dining alone at restaurants, but lately he had been spread so thin as the Flash that having a bit of time to himself seemed like a much-needed reprieve to clear his head.

A few months had passed since the robbery at Barret & Sons, and he hadn’t heard a peep from Snart since. If not for the occasional “Captain Cold in plainclothes” sighting called into the CCPD by an anonymous caller, Barry honestly might have believed he had dropped off the face of the earth entirely.

In the months since their last meeting, Barry had often found his mind straying to thoughts of how Snart might be doing. As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the images of Snart’s pain and vulnerability from echoing around the inside of his skull. And although the man was supposed to be his enemy, he had hoped he was spending the time recovering from everything that had happened to him.

He knew he should probably resent it when Snart slid into his booth and broke his hard-won solitude, but somehow, he didn’t. He found himself rolling his eyes and smiling good-naturedly at Snart’s antics as he shamelessly reached acrossed the table to snatch a handful of fries from Barry’s plate. After months of wondering if Snart was okay, it was a welcome interruption.

“Leonard!” He scolded lightly, laughing.

Leonard just raised an eyebrow at him and promptly shoved the fries in his mouth, chewing like an unusually attractive chipmunk. “What?” He asked after swallowing. “A supervillain can’t visit his hero?”

“No, they really can’t,” Barry laughed. “Especially not when said superhero is dining across the street from a police precinct.”

“Well, then the superhero should choose a better place to have dinner.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “You better pay for those fries. You already owe me a meal because of that stunt you pulled at Saint & Sinners. I expect compensation.”

“I’ve already offered you plenty of compensation in the form of a worthy adversary to keep you on your toes. Can’t have Central City’s Scarlet Savior getting complacent. Not all villains are as nice as me, you know.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

A lithe hand reached across the table and snatched a couple more fries from Barry’s plate. Barry glared half-heartedly as the fries he had been looking forward to for most of the day were pilfered by the man who claimed to be his villain. “I hear Gotham has a guy who makes people hallucinate their worst nightmares,” Snart said, pausing to chew the greasy fries. “Comparatively, I’d say ‘nice’ is a pretty good descriptor.”

“Are you forgetting the time you stabbed me in the back and released a bunch of metas into Central City?”

“Please, Barry, if I weren’t nice, it would have been an actual knife.”

Barry shuddered visibly. “As I recall, you shot me with your cold gun. I’m not really sure that’s better.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Barry,” Leonard said and reached for another fry.

Tutting, Barry pulled the plate out of the reach of Leonard’s wandering hands. There was only so much food theft he (and his speedster metabolism) could let slide. “Get your own!” He regretted the words the moment he saw Leonard’s lips quirking into a mischievous smirk. He braced himself for what was sure to be a truly horrendous pun.

“You realize if we both get fries, that makes this a date?”

That . . . was not what he had expected. His heart stuttered in his chest. Although he had never admitted it to anyone, he had long thought that Snart was extremely attractive. “So what if it does?” He asked, proud that his false bravado hardly wavered.

The smirk on Leonard’s face grew more pronounced. “Well, then, I’ll just have to call the server over, now won’t I?”

Barry hated the way his heart raced as he did exactly that. He watched as Snart called the server over, smiling at her in a way that was all charm and just shy of flirtatious, and placed an order for his burger of his own, as well as a double order of fries.

At Barry’s look of confusion, Leonard snickered. “You looked disappointed with the amount of fries you had left. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to replace them.”

“Right,” Barry scoffed. “Because you’re such a gentleman.”

“I think you’ll find that I can be very gentlemanly,” Leonard said.

In the minutes between Leonard placing his order and the rest of the food arriving, Barry couldn’t help but fidget. How the hell was he supposed to stay still when he was—and quite unexpectedly at that—on a date with a supervillain?

 _Was_ this a date? Leonard very easily could be fucking with him; it wouldn’t exactly be out of character for him to do whatever he could to rile Barry up.

But somehow, Barry didn’t think Leonard was doing this to rile him up, or at least, not _only_ doing it to rile him up. There was something about the way Leonard was smiling at him that made him doubt that his intentions were entirely self-serving or nefarious.

The way Leonard was smiling at him made something tentative bubble up in Barry’s belly, and he knew it couldn’t be attributed to the food.

Joe would die if he saw the way Snart was smiling at him now, and especially if he saw the way that Barry was smiling back.

Barry was so screwed.


	5. Chapter 5

It had definitely been a date.

Barry felt a touch hysterical for thinking about that even as he and Leonard were tumbling onto the couch. Since Leonard had slid into his booth unannounced a few weeks ago, they had gone on a handful more dates, and Barry was surprised by how well they got along when things like alter egos and superheroics weren’t in the way.

And now Leonard had actually invited him back to his apartment with plants of ordering in and curling up on the couch to watch a movie. It was strangely domestic, and Barry never could have imagined that their antagonistic relationship could blossom into something like this.

Though, at this rate, they were never going to get to the actual “watching a movie” part of the equation. Both of them were so preoccupied with kissing that the idea of grabbing the takeout menus and starting up the television had been placed on the backburner.

Kissing was still a new aspect of their relationship. They had exchanged a couple of kisses at the end of dates in the past, but neither of them were much for public displays of affection. While they had exchanged a peck on the cheek here and a kiss on the lips there, their past dates had been in public locations where they hadn’t felt comfortable giving in to the desire to make out.

This was their first real opportunity to kiss properly and take their time doing it. As soon as the door had shut behind them and shielded them from the watchful eyes of strangers, Leonard had pushed Barry up against the wall and kissed him. Barry had been surprised by the eagerness of his kisses but had kissed back just as warmly, loving the feel of Len’s lips on his and enjoying the sense of closeness. It had been a natural escalation to move to the couch where they could continue in comfort.

Feeling warm all over, Barry opened his mouth and let Leonard’s tongue slide inside, enjoying the dance of lips on lips and the gentle pleasure that came with kissing. They were still sitting mostly upright on the couch, Barry’s back propped against the armrest in a position that might have been uncomfortable if he weren’t so distracted by Leonard’s kisses.

He wrapped his arms around Leonard, enjoying the way it made him feel even closer to him. One of his hands settled on his lower back where the fabric of Leonard’s shirt was beginning to ride up, and he took the opportunity to stroke the strip of bare skin lightly without invading underneath his shirt.

Leonard seemed to appreciate the contact, sighing into Barry’s mouth before deepening the kiss and pressing Barry further back into the armrest. They stayed slotted together like that for a while, just learning how they best fit together. Barry could feel arousal building low in his belly, but he didn’t feel any urgency to escalate the situation. It was nice taking this time to just enjoy Leonard’s touch and feel close to him, and their relationship was still so new.

Barry didn’t want to rush this.

But he would like to lie down properly, preferably in a position where the armrest wouldn’t dig into his back. He sat up and then gently pushed Leonard to lie down, slotting into place on top of him and kissing the side of his neck, wanting to see how Leonard might react to the new sensation. He wanted to learn all of Leonard.

But he would like to lie down properly, preferably in a position where the armrest wouldn’t dig into his back. Lying down would bring a new kind of intimacy to this encounter, and he wanted to experience that with him. He sat up and then gently pushed Leonard to lie down, slotting into place on top of him and kissing the side of his neck, wanting to see how Leonard might react to the new sensation. He wanted to learn all of Leonard.

But instead of moaning or laughing like Barry was hoping he would, Leonard went rigid underneath him.

“Not—not on top of me,” Leonard said, inhaling sharply and twisting his face away from Barry’s. The undercurrent of fear in his voice made Barry pull away from his neck immediately.

“Do you need to stop?” Barry asked, concerned, as he sat up and helped Leonard do the same.

Leonard’s breath remained rough for a moment as he collected himself enough to answer Barry. “No, I’m fine.” He gave Barry an unconvincing smile that did nothing to reassure him. “We can go back to kissing.”

Barry shook his head. “Not until I know that you’re okay.” He took Leonard’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Kissing can wait.”

“I’m fine,” Leonard said again. “It’s just . . . when you laid on top of me. It made me think of some not so good things.”

Since their first date a few weeks ago, Barry had learned that Leonard could be a little reticent about physical contact. Although Leonard clearly enjoyed kissing, an unexpected touch could make him jump or startle, and Barry didn’t like to push it. But in the moment, Barry had been so caught up in the new experience and his closeness to Leonard that he had forgotten all about being careful.

“I’m sorry,” Barry said softly. “I got a little carried away and didn’t think.”

Leonard sighed, but he smiled at Barry a little more convincingly this time. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault that I’m fucked up.” The words were self-deprecating, but it seemed like Leonard intended them as an attempt to deflect the situation with humor.

Barry recoiled at Leonard’s words. “You are _not_ —why would you think that?”

“Come on, Barry, you can’t even lie on top of me without me freaking out. I think it’s safe to say that I’m a little fucked up.”

“Len, after what you went through, it’s perfectly natural to have trouble with some things. That’s not fucked up; it’s just being human,” Barry said earnestly, looking Leonard in the eyes.

Although he meant to reassure Leonard, his words only seemed to aggravate him instead. “It doesn’t really matter what you call it, Barry. I’m damaged, and that’s what you’re signing up for by dating me.”

Despite his irritated tone, Barry could sense that Leonard was trying to disguise his vulnerability with anger. Their relationship was still so new, and they were both unsure about whether it would last and what might cause it to end. “No,” Barry said. “No, I signed up to date _you._ And sure, you might have some trauma, but I sure as hell do too. I don’t know where our relationship is going to go, but I do know it’s not going to end because your trauma scared me off.”

He could tell that Leonard didn’t entirely believe him, so he pushed on. “Len, you’re not the only one who has these problems. It happened fifteen years ago, but sometimes I still have flashbacks to my mom’s murder. Sometimes, I have night terrors, and trust me, they’re not pretty. One time my neighbors called the cops because they thought someone was trying to kill me.” He squeezed Len’s hand again. “You’ve gone through more than most people have. I wish like hell that you hadn’t, not because it’s ‘inconvenient’ to me but because you didn’t deserve what happened to you. But it’s normal, okay? I promise you it’s normal.”

“Okay,” Leonard said shakily, and Barry chose not to comment on how his eyes looked a little wet. He knew he had probably dealt with a lot of people who weren’t quite as understanding about trauma and recovery.

“We can do whatever you’d like,” Barry said. “If that means you want me to leave, I can do that, or we can go ahead and order that takeout we were talking about. Whatever you want, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want you to leave. But can we . . . lie down with me?”

Barry was a little startled by the request after the way that had gone the last time, but he let Leonard rearrange their position on the couch. Instead of pulling Barry on top of him, he pulled him to lie next to him so he could face him on an equal playing field. “This is good,” Leonard whispered. He smiled at Barry earnestly, looking a little awed, and then leaned in to kiss him, just a soft press of his lips against Barry’s before he laughed lightly and tucked his face into Barry’s shoulder. “I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, but this is good.”

Their legs tangled together, and Barry smiled as he wrapped an arm around Leonard and pressed a kiss of his own into his hair. Although their current position was a far cry from the heated kisses from before, it was just as intimate. Barry’s stomach was sure to interrupt them eventually, but for now, he relaxed into Leonard’s embrace.


	6. Chapter 6

It was hard for Barry to wrap his mind around how much an unexpected meeting in a diner a few months ago had changed his life so much. What had started out as his once-nemesis stealing fries from his plate to tease him and get under his skin had slowly blossomed, and then flourished, into a romance that Barry had never imagined would happen between them.

And while the fallout from his family and friends discovering their relationship had been extreme, Barry wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Calling Leonard’s bluff at the diner had turned out to be one of the better decisions he had made of late. His family might not agree (okay, would _definitely_ not agree) with that judgment, but that not-date several months ago had brought him to where he was now.

Which was standing outside the door to the new flat he and Leonard had decided to rent as a couple.

In a rare display of vulnerability, Leonard had asked Barry to move in with him. And since living in the house he shared with Mick and Lisa and which served as the headquarters of his less-than-legal operations was unappealing to Barry, they had compromised by commencing an apartment search which had lasted three months even with the help of a realtor.

Who knew that jewel thieves on the run from the law could be so picky about their living quarters?

But if their apartment search had taught Barry one thing, it was that Leonard wasn’t being picky about his own choice of accommodations, but rather, he was being picky because he wanted the best for Barry. That little realization had warmed Barry’s heart a bit more than he thought might be reasonable, but he couldn’t help it. It was amazing to see how much love Leonard had for him and know that he wanted him to have a nice place to live.

And honestly, Barry was looking forward to having a place of their own, not just because he looked forward to spending more time with Leonard, but also because it would be nice to get away from his foster father’s prying eyes and disapproving glares.

He knew Joe only wanted what was best for him and that his disapproval came from a place of concern, but this was something he was sure of. He had been sure of this since Leonard had first asked him to move in with him, had scarcely even paused before saying yes.

“Barry, you have to put the keys in the door to open it,” Leonard said, amused, from just beside him, pulling him away from the thoughts that had caused him to dawdle in the simple task of opening the door. “And while I’m sure you could phase through the door and I’m perfectly capable of bypassing this lock, you _did_ insist on living somewhere with security cameras, so that might not be a great idea for either of us.”

Barry laughed. “Okay, okay! If you insist on doing things the legal way.” He inserted the key into the lock and swung the door open. And just like that, they were home.

It wasn’t the first time that they had stepped inside this unit, but it _was_ the first time it had belonged to them. The last time had been just before signing the lease—Leonard had insisted on inspecting the unit personally to make sure it was in good condition—and it was a strangely wonderful feeling to know that this would be their home.

While Leonard had offered to buy them a condo or a house, telling Barry that money didn’t need to get in the way of finding their perfect home, Barry had insisted on leasing, wanting as much of the money as possible to come from legal means. Leonard had grumbled about “pesky superheroes and their morals” but conceded with little fanfare. And legality aside, Barry had wanted this home to be something they contributed to together.

And now they were finally here.

Barry laughed again as Leonard pressed him up against the door of their new home to kiss him with a whispered, “we did it, Barry,” and kissed back happily. They still had to unload the U-Haul they had waiting in the parking garage, knew they had so much unpacking to do, but it was hard not to take the opportunity to celebrate their new home and what it meant for their relationship.

After a moment, Barry pulled away so they could both catch their breath and leaned his forehead against Leonard’s. “What do you say we unload the truck and then get dinner to celebrate?” He said, smiling warmly. “Maybe at the diner where we had our first date?”

“You keep calling that our first date but we both know our first date was as Captain Cold as the Flash.”

Barry rolled his eyes, but there was no derision behind the gesture. This was a conversation they had had many times before, and neither of them would ever concede the other’s point. “Unless you’re in the habit of trying to kill your dates, that _definitely_ doesn’t count. And even if it did, both people have to know it’s a date for it to be a date.”

“That might be the case for most people, but most people aren’t your brand of obtuse.”

Spluttering, Barry pushed Leonard away in mock-offense, eliciting a peal of happy laughter from him in response. Barry loved to hear that laugh; it was a million times better than the sneers and cruel laughs he had heard from him the past, and absolutely incomparable to the sounds of pain that he had sometimes heard from Leonard. “Who are you calling obtuse? I’m the fastest man alive and that applies to my brain, too!”

“Are you sure? Because you say that like it applies to everything, which would have some pretty negative implications about your prowess in the bedroom and we both know—”

Barry’s hand over his mouth momentarily silenced Leonard for precisely one second before he bit down on it and made him remove it with a girlish shriek. “What was that for!”

Leonard laughed so hard his sides must be splitting in pain. “That’s what you get for trying to silence me!”

“Ugh, now I have to wash my hand,” Barry said, frowning. “No, no, you don’t get to laugh at that too, I know I just kissed you but it’s different!” He crossed over to the sink and glared at Leonard with a fake pout as he washed his hand.

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Leonard said, coming up behind Barry to tuck his chin into his shoulder and wrap his arms around him. “Just wash up so we can unload the truck, because I want to take you out for dinner sooner rather than later.”

“It’s only 2 p.m.,” Barry protested. They hardly had _that_ many possessions to unload from the truck, and most of their furniture would be arriving tomorrow. Even unloading their bed and getting it into the apartment shouldn’t take horribly long even without the advantage of Barry’s superspeed—which, Leonard was right, the amount of surveillance in this building really did put a damper on using his powers in common areas. Leonard had insisted on bringing the bed themselves rather than having the furniture company deliver it along with the rest of their furniture the next day, claiming that he was much too old to subject his back to the perils of sleeping on an air mattress for the night.

“Are you telling me you couldn’t put away about five steaks right now? Come on, Barry, you’re like a tall, skinny hobbit—”

“Say what you will but you know I’m right,” Leonard said cheekily.

Barry’s traitorous stomach chose that moment to growl. Apparently, his stomach agreed with Leonard’s statement that Barry was a hobbit at heart (at stomach?), and really, although he didn’t quite appreciate that comparison, he had to admit that the idea of an early dinner did sound pretty appealing. The anticipation of moving in with Leonard today had kept him up for most of the night, and sleeplessness always did ratchet up Barry’s already-enormous speedster appetite.

They could stand here and get into an argument about what kind of fantasy creature he was most like, or they could get started on unloading the vehicle to get one step closer to their celebration dinner at the diner where their relationship had really started.

The choice was simple.

Barry smiled, reaching out to take Leonard’s hand, and said, “race me to the truck?” They both knew that in a real race, Leonard would never stand a chance, but he would have to maintain a normal pace for the security cameras anyway, and winning wasn’t the point in the slightest.

He was just thrilled to be here with Leonard, getting started on this new chapter of their lives, and he could tell that Leonard was too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my partner, Purpleyin, for making the moodboard for this chapter! You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604/chapters/68063302).
> 
> All of the moodboards for this fic are [now available on Tumblr](https://purpleyin.tumblr.com/post/636764200065171456/), which means you can reblog them if you'd like!

Barry woke to Len tossing and turning fretfully next to him in the bed and sighed. It seemed like Leonard had nightmares more night than not, especially recently. For a moment, he debated whether he should wake him up. While he didn’t want him to have to suffer through a nightmare, he also knew just how exhausted and fatigued Len had been of late. With nightmares interrupting his sleep so frequently, he had been cranky and tired, and Barry knew that the chronic lack of sleep couldn’t be good for his mental health.

He settled for whispering to him softly, hoping that something he said might get through to Leonard even in his sleep, and monitored him for signs that his nightmare was worsening. If it got bad enough, Barry wouldn’t hesitate to intervene.

But the choice of whether to wake Len was taken from Barry when his eyes snapped open as he sprang awake with a harsh gasp.

“Len, honey, ‘you okay?” He turned on the lamp next to the bed, hating how commonplace that question had become recently.

With the light on, Barry could see that Leonard’s face was white and bloodless as he looked around the room in a mixture of confusion and terror. He was panting and didn’t seem to register Barry’s words. All of a sudden, Leonard looked down at the blankets covering his waist and gasped, “oh god, oh fuck,” before jumping out of the bed. Once standing, he began to tear at the sheets like a man possessed, frantically telling Barry to get off the bed.

“Len, what’s wrong?” Barry asked, concerned, even as he climbed out of bed like Leonard had begged him to. He didn’t get a response from him—he was too busy muttering to himself in distress and pulling the comforter off to respond to Barry’s question.

Now that he was standing and the comforter had been removed from the bed, Barry could see the wetness seeping into the fabric that Leonard was bundling into his arms. When he returned his gaze to Leonard’s face, he could see the frantic tears that were gathering in his eyes and realized with mounting horror exactly what had happened. “Len . . .”

“I pissed the bed, Barry,” Leonard gritted out through tightly-clenched teeth. “Are you happy now?” He began stalking off towards the laundry room with the sheets bundled up in his arms, but Barry attempted to stop him with a gentle hand to his upper arm.

“Len,” he urged. “It’s okay, I promise. Come on, let me help—”

Leonard pulled away from him almost violently, looking like desperately needed to get away from Barry. He turned his face away from him carefully, not wanting him to see how his face was wet, and stepped away from him. “I’m fine,” Len said, backing towards the door. “I’m fine,” he said again, and practically ran out of their bedroom to start the laundry.

Barry sighed heavily as he watched him leave. It would have been easy to stop him, but Barry didn’t want to push when he was clearly feeling so vulnerable. He knew that Leonard had been suffering a lot recently, that recovery wasn’t linear, but it hurt to see Leonard in so much pain and so unwilling to ask for or accept Barry’s help. Wetting the bed . . . that was new, and Barry worried for what it meant about Leonard’s mental state. Slipping into super speed, Barry remade their bed with fresh sheets and grabbed a comfortable pair of pajamas to help Len feel better when he came back.

When Leonard finally returned from the laundry room several minutes later, his face was still a little too pink and his eyes a little too shiny to deny that he had been crying, but Barry tactfully ignored it. Barry could tell that he had tried to get a handle on his crying before returning to their bedroom, but even he couldn’t fully hide it. Barry waited for what seemed like forever, wanting to go to Leonard and pull him into his arms, but he knew it might do more harm than good to crowd him when his emotional state was so fragile. He just wanted to know that Leonard was okay. Or at least as okay as he could be right now.

After a long moment, Barry broke the tense silence. “I got you pajam—”

“I just want to take a shower,” Leonard said hoarsely, unable to meet Barry’s eyes.

Barry nodded. “Of course, Leonard. Whatever you need.” He let Leonard push past him to the bathroom and sighed when he heard the water turn on, not quite loud enough to fully muffle the pained sounds that built in Leonard’s throat as soon as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He waited for the telltale sound of the shower door sliding shut before he quietly entered the bathroom behind Len to place his pajamas on the bathroom counter. He tried to ignore the way his heart leapt into his throat at the sound of Len crying beneath the sound of the water rushing over him, and padded out of the bathroom quietly, closing the door behind him, and sliding back into the freshly-made bed to wait for Leonard.

Barry sat in bed with the light on, pretending to read a book so Leonard wouldn’t feel unnecessarily self-conscious when he came out of the shower to find Barry waiting up for him. He couldn’t make his mind focus on the words and he couldn’t just go back to sleep when he knew Len was just one room over, falling apart in the shower. Each minute he spent waiting for Len to leave the shower dragged on impossibly slowly, and it was nearly an hour before the sound of rushing water finally stopped and Barry could hear the shower door opening. He felt relieved; he had been getting worried enough to consider checking up on him.

A few minutes later, Leonard came out of the bathroom clothed in fresh pajamas, looking dejected and exhausted. Even the steam hadn’t been enough to wash away all the evidence of his crying, and it broke Barry’s heart to see how Leonard’s face was still so swollen from crying and the way his lips shook as he looked at Barry.

“Barry . . .” Leonard whispered, his voice cracking on the word.

Fighting the emotions that threatened to show on his face, Barry pulled back the edge of the blanket for Leonard to climb in next to him and smiled as warmly as he could manage. “Come back to bed, baby,” he said, and Leonard climbed into bed tentatively.

“You—I went to the bathroom, so, so you don’t have to worry, I won’t—again—”

“Don’t worry about,” Barry whispered. “You were having a nightmare. You don’t have to be ashamed about it.”

Leonard shook his head jerkily. “No, I—”

“Leonard, it’s okay. Okay? It happens. I’ve had nightmares where I literally vibrated through the floor. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you or anything else.”

He could tell that Leonard didn’t fully believe what he was saying, but he didn’t try to argue with him about it. He let Barry pull him close, sighing shakily into Barry’s chest as he buried his face in the soft fabric of Barry’s nightshirt. He let out a shuddering breath as he relaxed into Barry’s arm, trying to accept the physical affection that Barry was showing him.

Although they had been together for nearly a year now, it was still difficult at times for Leonard to accept affection, and that was even more true after a nightmare startled him awake.

Barry traced his fingers over Leonard’s back through the sot fabric of his warm flannel pajamas, trying to soothe him without words. Leonard wouldn’t believe him no matter how many times he said that it was okay, that he wasn’t judging him for what had happened, but he could try to let the meaning of the words sink in through his touch, could hold him and hopefully help keep the nightmares at bay for the rest of the night.

“I’m not okay,” Leonard choked into his nightshirt after several long minutes had passed.

“I know, Len,” Barry whispered. “But you will be, okay? I promise. And I’ll help you.”

Leonard nodded jerkily into Barry’s chest, letting him thread his fingers through his closely-cropped hair and trying to modulate his breathing so he could fall back asleep. He had been so tired lately, trying to block out memories of the—of the rape, trying not to fall asleep because sleep meant nightmares, but it was easier when Barry was there. It was easier if Barry could talk him through it, could hold him and reassure him in a way that no one really had since his mother had left so many years ago.

He had bigger problems now, bigger problems than skinned knees and boogeymen and a dad whose breath always smelled like alcohol and whose words always cut a little too deeply.

But at least he had Barry. Wonderful, unjudgmental Barry, whose arms felt like sweetness and comfort and made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t fall apart for another day.

* * *

The next morning, Barry was already well into cooking breakfast when Leonard finally shuffled out of bed. He hadn’t wanted to wake Len when he was finally getting some much-needed rest, and he figured he could help by cooking heaps of calorie-rich food.

Leonard walked into the kitchen, still clad in his pajamas and rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and gave Barry a small smile. “Bacon?” He asked curiously.

Nodding, Barry began to pile a plate for Leonard high with hashed browns, sausage, bacon, and eggs. Food had long been one of Barry’s love languages, and he firmly believed that a hearty meal could go a long way towards improving someone’s mood. He passed the plate to Leonard, who immediately took a seat at the table and began digging in immediately.

Barry took a seat across from Leonard, sighing internally because he knew they needed to discuss what had happened last night but also knew that Leonard was hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. He let Leonard finish his meal and start in on a second cup of coffee before he broached the subject.

“I think you should try therapy,” he blurted out. He had meant to be more tactful, but his nervousness had betrayed him.

He could see Leonard’s shoulders tense as he paused in reading the morning paper. “Therapy?” Leonard asked, ignoring the way his voice cracked in the middle of the word. “Why’s that?”

Leonard’s voice was cool and collected as he asked the question, but Barry could tell that internally, Leonard was anything but.

“Leonard,” Barry said softly. “You’re hardly sleeping, and when you do, you have nightmares. I’ve tried to let you heal at your own pace, but after last night, I think it’s time that we had an honest discussion about getting you into therapy so you can really start healing.”

“I don’t need therapy,” Leonard gritted out. “I’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that, and I hope you’re right, but Lenny, you _aren’t_ fine. And that’s okay; you don’t have to be fine. But maybe with some help, you could be.”

“You help me.”

“But I’m not a doctor. I’m not a therapist. I don’t know what I’m doing, and all I can do is love you as your boyfriend. I’m not qualified to give you therapy.”

Hands shaking visibly, Leonard set down the newspaper. “I don’t want therapy.”

“I know. I know you don’t. But Len, if you want to get better, if you want to start feeling okay again, I really think you should consider it. And I know you want to get better.”

Leonard let his face sink into his hands. “I’ll be fine.”

Barry let himself reach a hand out to Len, resting it lightly on his forearm where it was less likely to jar him. “It’s okay to ask for help,” he whispered. “Come on, Lenny. For me?”

He could feel Len’s arm trembling underneath his hand, and he hated himself for making him feel vulnerable like this. But after a brutally long moment of silence, Leonard said into his hands, “okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Leonard repeated shakily. “I’ll do it. I’ll . . . go to therapy.” The words sounded like they physically pained Leonard to say, but Barry was just glad that he was finally accepting that he needed help.

Barry rubbed his arm. “Okay. That’s good. I’m proud of you,” he soothed. “Do you want to make the appointment or should I?”

“Can you—can you do it?”

“Yeah, honey, I can do it.” Barry watched as Leonard nodded jerkily, taking a few rough breaths before finally lifting his head out of his hands and giving Barry a weak smile. Barry squeezed his arm reassuringly before picking up his own coffee mug and taking a long draught to break the tension. “Whatever you need.”

He could tell that he had rattled Len by bringing up the topic of therapy, but it was a necessary evil. Leonard would be rattled for the here and now, but hopefully, a therapist could help him feel a lot better. He could tell that Leonard had been struggling recently, that the assault had given Len new scars and exacerbated old ones, and it was heartbreaking to watch. He couldn’t let Len just fall apart and not try all the tools available to help him.

Barry leaned across the table and gave Len a kiss on the forehead. “What do you say we get dinner together after work? We can try out that new Italian place near here. I’ve heard good things.”

Len nodded, easing into the abrupt change in topic. He cleared his throat to loosen the way it had been tightening up from emotion. “That sounds good.”

“I’ll put together a list of therapists that have good reviews, okay? You can pick the one you think is best.”

“Okay,” Leonard said, looking at his hands. That sounded daunting, but he knew that Barry was right. He couldn’t go on like this, and it wasn’t fair to Barry either.

“Great,” Barry said. He began to putter around the kitchen, putting up their dishes and cleaning up the mess he had made. Although he could do it at super speed and be done within seconds, he decided against it, not wanting to disorient Leonard right now. When he had cleared away all the dishes, he looked at him over his shoulder and said slyly, “I’m going to take a shower. Why don’t you join me?”

Leonard’s eyebrows shut up, but he cleared the surprise off his face quickly before doing just that. They only had an hour before Barry would have to leave for work, and he knew they would both rather spend it together than moping apart.

* * *

Barry flashed through most of his work at the precinct, wanting to leave enough time to take care of any Flash business that came up as well to scroll through his computer looking up therapists. He wrote down the names of a handful of therapists who specialized in PTSD and looked like promising candidates, and on his lunch break, he was able to devote some time to calling each one up to set up a time to do a phone interview. It wasn’t enough that the therapist had good reviews; he wanted someone who seemed like they’d be a good match for Len and who had a strong sense of discretion.

After all, professional code of ethics or not, Barry knew there were a lot of therapists out there who would probably take offense to playing doctor to a supervillain, mostly reformed or not.

He hoped one of these therapists would be a good match for Leonard, but if they weren’t, he just hoped it wouldn’t put him off therapy permanently. When Barry was a child, Joe had put him in therapy, and it had taken a long time to find a good match for him. Someone who wouldn’t pity him or spend time trying to disabuse him of his notions of his father’s innocence. Barry knew all too well how hard it could be to find a good therapist, but he still hoped it would be easier for Leonard.

He knew Len wouldn’t respond well to being pitied. He knew Len probably wouldn’t feel comfortable with a male therapist after all of his bad experiences with male authority figures and male violence. He knew Len needed someone who could be gentle with him, but also have enough of a backbone to not let Len steamroll over them or get out of making any real progress with his therapy.

In the years since the lightning strike, Barry had thanked and cursed the universe for his gift of speed in equal measure, but today, he had a new reason to be thankful for it. It was so much easier to narrow down the names of hundreds of therapists in and around the city when he had speed on his side.

With his gift of speed, it wasn’t strictly necessary to confine his search to Central City, but somehow, he didn’t think Leonard would appreciate being carted around to and from his therapy appointments. Leonard felt vulnerable enough as it was without Barry keeping him from being independent.

Unfortunately, though, the one thing his speed couldn’t help him with was the process of actually interviewing the therapists on his list. Functional limitations of technology aside, the people he was interviewing could only speak so fast. (Barry wished, not for the first time, that he could make other people move as fast as he could.)

But over the next few days, he narrowed down the list to just have a dozen therapists for Len to choose from. If none of them were a good fit, he would go back to the drawing board, but he really hoped his efforts would take some of the weight off of Leonard while still giving him a choice in his care.

The morning after he completed the list, he discreetly placed it underneath Len’s glass of orange juice at breakfast. Leonard’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly when he saw the list, but he said nothing.

They had breakfast in silence, neither of them feeling up for making conversation.

* * *

When Barry got home from work, he studied Leonard’s face for any sign that he had or hadn’t contacted any of the therapists on the list. Part of him wanted to be able to suss out whether he had without asking him. He was afraid that Leonard hadn’t and that asking him would start an argument.

He didn’t feel like arguing. He just wanted Leonard to be okay.

But when simply looking—and pretending he wasn’t staring—yielded no useful information about the status of Leonard’s therapist search, Barry admitted to himself that he had to actually ask the question. He was glad he had brought home dinner; it seemed easier somehow to broach these conversations over food.

“Did you call?” He blurted out without any lead-up or context. Still, he knew Leonard would know exactly what he was talking about.

When Leonard wouldn’t meet his eyes, Barry’s heart sunk. He hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t, Barry should have known better than to leave it up to him—

“Yes.”

Barry startled. “You did?” Although it was what Barry had wanted him to say, he still couldn’t help but feel surprised to hear the confirmation. But then, doubt set in. Leonard wouldn’t lie about this, would he? The mean part of Barry’s brain argued that there was nothing Leonard wouldn’t lie about, but he shoved it down in favor of listening to Leonard’s answer.

“I did. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Of course it is!” Barry said. “I just—I can’t help that I’m a little surprised. I thought it would be a little harder to get you to do it.” He paused. “Dis anything pan out? If not, there are still loads of people you can try, hundreds, even, that list was just a few that I thought seemed promising, but it’s really up to you, you’re the one who has to go to see them—”

Leonard cut off his nervous babble with his own tentative answer. “I have an appointment next week,” he said softly.

The shock on Barry’s face was palpable, but he disguised it quickly. “That’s great, Leonard,” he enthused. “Who did you choose?”

Leonard stabbed a piece of chicken on his plate a bit more aggressively than was strictly necessary. “Dr. Sharon Finkel,” he said, unable to keep a touch of derision from coloring his voice.

But underneath the familiar bravado, Barry could hear the undercurrent of hope that he was trying to hide from him, that he felt too vulnerable to show to him. Despite his misgivings about the process and his continued belief that trying was futile, Leonard honestly wanted to get better.

And Barry hoped like hell that this Dr. Finkel would be able to help him do it. When he had spoken to her on the phone, she had sounded kind and warm, and she had assured him of her professionalism and discretion. He hadn’t seen any red flags during the criminal background check he had conducted on her in a less-than-legal misuse of police resources, or in the more ordinary internet search he had done on her.

He was cautiously optimistic that she might actually be able to help Leonard, but until they actually met in person and started having regular therapy sessions, it was too early to tell.

But right now, he smiled at Leonard and reached over the table to squeeze his hand, feeling warmed when Leonard squeezed back.

Only time would tell.


	8. Chapter 8

The traumas that both of them had endured over the course of the lifetimes made things far from perfect, but Barry felt heartened by the progress that Leonard had made in his recovery. He knew from experience that therapy wasn’t a quick fix—the years after his mother died that Joe had spent carting him from one therapist’s office to the next had taught him that—but he also knew just how much it could help.

And the therapy _was_ helping.

While nightmares had once woken them nearly every night and left Leonard feeling haggard and listless almost every morning, they now happened more to the tune of a couple times a month. When Leonard was feeling stressed or rattled, the frequency would often go up, but thankfully, they both had better tools for dealing with that now.

Leonard was more open with Barry about how he was feeling now, about what he needed. Sometimes finding out how Leonard was doing still felt a bit like pulling teeth, but it felt like that less often than it had at the start. Now that their relationship had some longevity behind it and Leonard knew Barry wasn’t just going to run screaming for the hills at the first sign of hardship, it was so much easier to communicate in a healthy way. And while they didn’t usually discuss what Leonard had talked about in therapy with Dr. Finkel, Barry was pretty sure that she was partly to thank for that.

Barry didn’t have to rely as much on behavioral cues like eating and sleeping habits to find out how his boyfriend was feeling anymore. Although he still noticed those little cues, Leonard was much more likely to come to Barry these days.

The incident that had caused Barry to suggest therapy in the first place hadn’t repeated itself, and they were both thankful for that.

It had been difficult seeing Leonard in so much pain. It had been difficult knowing that his love for him wasn’t enough to take that pain away.

While that pain was unlikely to ever vanish completely, just as Barry’s own was unlikely to do the same, he was so relieved to see that Leonard was doing so much better. And it was a special perk to be able to watch him sleep in those minutes before his own insomnia finally caught up with him and not have to worry as much about whether Leonard’s smooth, sleeping face might crease into pain or sorrow as a nightmare overtook him in his sleep.

Barry reached out a hand in the dark, gently smoothing over Leonard’s soft, close-cropped hair, watching his face in the dim light from the street lamps. When he didn’t stir into wakefulness at the light touch, Barry leaned in to press a soft kiss against his temple. He loved to watch Leonard sleep like this, briefly unaware of the world and untouched by painful memories, his guard down and his face completely open to Barry.

He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve the privilege of seeing Leonard like this, but he was thankful that he could.

Getting here had taken them quite some time, but he knew they would both fight to make it last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, please leave a comment! They give me an instant serotonin boost.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Moodboards for the Coldflash fic "Aftermath"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801604) by [Purpleyin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin)




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